


A fistful of marigolds

by amarmeme



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:48:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26221396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amarmeme/pseuds/amarmeme
Summary: Merrill follows a trail of crushed marigolds and wonders how she'd gotten to a place where she and Fenris no longer argue as much.
Relationships: Fenris/Merrill (Dragon Age)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 42
Collections: Black Emporium 2020





	A fistful of marigolds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sneaky_Apostate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sneaky_Apostate/gifts).



> Marigolds are a type of daisy, in case you were curious. :)

Merrill followed the trail of crushed marigolds. Knowing Fenris, he’d not meant to destroy them, but an unpleasant idea crept into his head, causing his fist to clench. She imagined it was about magic, the errant thought, likely an innocent comment she’d made.

It was ever this way. Fenris tolerated her presence because of Hawke. But Hawke had left the city months ago, and Fenris still indulged Merrill's whims. It _likely_ had to do with that night, after the fight in the gallows. Smoke and fire and ... She tried to keep much of it from her mind, though it was impossible to not dwell on certain parts. 

***

Merrill sagged against Varric, watching smoke drift across the sky through a hole in the roof. The Hanged Man had suffered few losses besides the roof. Each of them had been grateful, clearing aside wreckage in order to fill their glasses. Then the melancholy set in. 

“I’m going home,” Hawke declared after hours of sighing over her ale. Hawke’s chair scraped against the floor and Isabela barely looked up from the undealt cards. “Cross your fingers, we don’t get caught by any templars.”

Merrill supposed she might as well return to the alienage. Her head hurt from all the drink and the fighting, but her aches couldn’t block out her worry. Would her home still be standing? Her people had so little to begin with, most of their roofs had holes already! The idea of the alienage even worse off was hard to swallow. She clutched her head and stood up, feet slipping on a bit of rubble. Varric caught her arm before she could teeter sideways. 

“Oh, thank you, Varric.”

Hawke had rushed over with outstretched hands, and upon seeing her safe, tucked Merrill’s chin instead. 

“I’m alright!” Merrill chirped too brightly. “We missed a few shingles, that’s all.”

Hawke’s eyes narrowed while her smile widened. She called over a shoulder. 

“Fenris? Be a dear and help Merrill home.”

Merrill wasn’t keen to be alone, but that didn’t mean she wanted his company either. She swallowed a thick lump. Fenris was too prickly for her current mood. 

“Why do I--” he complained, confirming her unkind thoughts. The protest stopped as soon as four sets of eyes snapped on him. His face fell in a look of anguish, and he pushed back from the table. “Fine, come with me, witch.”

Merrill wanted to say she was alright on her own, but the way the world was spinning was not alright. The way Kirkwall was burning wasn’t alright either. Perhaps his sour state would keep her from feeling so low. Focusing on his hatred for her was a distraction, though only marginally better.

Merrill patted Varric’s hand, and he let her go reluctantly. 

“Don’t let him lead you in the wrong direction, Daisy,” he said under his breath.

Merrill assured him it would be fine — Fenris knew the way to the alienage just as she did — and trailed behind her reluctant companion. The elf ducked under the broken frame of the door, with nails protruding from the splintered wood. She paused at the threshold. Merrill waved weakly at Hawke and the others still there — Isabela, Varric and Bethany. Standing in the broken doorway felt like an end to something, a season passing right before her. But unlike the pattern of leaves changing in the fall or new buds poking through the delicate earth, Merrill knew that even with time, things would never return to the way they once were. 

***

Whenever Master Ilen had the time, he’d taught the signs to the warriors of the clan. Tracking a foe was nearly the same as tracking an animal, and Merrill observed these lessons only sporadically, the seldom moments where Marethari did not need her nearby. The little she learned stuck though. There was a language to the fallen leaves, signals in the disturbed dirt. She had absorbed it all eagerly, as eagerly as any lesson on magic or history.

The truth was, she missed the forest deeply. Living in the alienage wasn’t so bad, the people needed her, but a part of Merrill always longed for the world beyond the city walls. To listen to the little bird songs, to tiptoe through the flowers blanketing the floor and to inhale as much fresh air as her lungs would allow. 

Kirkwall smelled like cabbage. 

Hawke’s adventures ceased nearly immediately after the chantry exploded. It was as if Kirkwall was too busy licking its own wounds to challenge Hawke any longer, and suddenly, Merrill found herself with free time. Isabela went along at first, telling the most exciting stories. Merrill cherished those times, and when the sea called Isabela away, she found it hard not to shed a few tears for the loss of such a friend. Fenris didn't even judge her for the time she cried on his sleeve. He'd straightened up in his seat, and nudged her aside, insisting he'd go along into the woods if she'd just stop crying. 

It was a very nice offer, though it took Merrill some weeks to get the courage to ask him. It was hard to imagine it now, for as often as she wished to go outside the city, Fenris was ready and willing. In time she taught him what she'd learned from Master Ilen's lessons and Fenris had taken to it better than most of the warriors in her clan. 

The path of crushed marigolds ended abruptly. Merrill couldn’t spy any flowers on the ground, and there was little to indicate Fenris had been there at all. Pride trickled into her chest as she thought of how she’d taught him to walk lightly through the leaves and branches, trending silently as a fennec. How he must have been doing so now, or watching her eagerly from a tree. 

That had been a surprise. How willing to learn Fenris was — from her, of all people! But Merrill told herself that Isabela had gone, and Hawke and now Varric. Aveline was too busy for them. There was no one else left for Fenris to learn from than Merrill. And neither liked to be alone. Maybe he wasn’t lethallin, but something closer to it than before. Despite all the beautiful, descriptive phrases Dalish contained, there wasn’t one for what she and Fenris had between them. 

But that did not matter, and she put the distraction from her mind as she searched for a clue to where Fenris had gone.

***

The efficient pace Fenris set carried them swiftly through the Lowton streets. Merrill had been accused of dallying often in her life, mostly by Marethari. The last had been outside the ship taking them across the Waking Sea, Merrill stopping to smell a delicate cornflower not yet trampled by the crush. Now though, she did not mind the brisk pace Fenris kept. Smoke filled the air and choked their lungs, cries echoed throughout the hazy, winding streets. There was no beauty to admire here. In their hasty descent from the sky, indiscriminate pieces of the chantry crushed streets, homes and market stalls alike. Merrill watched several fires grow rampant and wild, crackling flames reaching skyward, echoing the terrible red blast. Slightly ahead of her, Fenris’ brow was fixed in a disapproving manner. When he was like this, she could read his thoughts plainly.

_Look what magic has done._

A piercing, childlike shriek sent chills up her spine. Spinning back on a heel with more grace than she should have had, Merrill searched for the source. It was all confusion and disorder, no matter where she looked. Kirkwall was dying and Merrill didn’t know how to ignore all the pain. Perhaps she could help this one soul. 

An abandoned building nearby caught her eye. Flames inched across the roof, creeping smugly from the neighboring house on fire. A young, bedraggled human wandered into a half-open door, clutching his side, face covered in rivulets of blood. The sound of wood creaking and splitting filled her ears and a feeling of dread suffused her limbs. As a beam threatened to fall above the child’s head, Merrill forced her nails into her palm. 

Fenris doubled back and began to warn her. 

“ _Witch--”_

The word fell flat as the rush of magic overwhelmed her. The feeling of power and surety soothed when everything else was so uncertain. Merrill pushed the teetering wreckage with a telekinetic blast, a trick Bethany had demonstrated many times before with graceful precision. The entire front of the building fell flat with Merrill’s effort. 

This was Kirkwall, of course, and at that moment a grizzled templar turned the corner. The blast sent bricks and flaming boards flying in his direction while the child scurried into an alley. Blood dripped from her palm onto the dirty street. The templar spat between them and turned a brilliant blue, the rippling wave of a Cleanse falling over Merrill. The effect was immediate. Her chest felt hollow, her veins icy cold. The loss was shocking and she knelt immediately, holding her staff in front of her for balance. This was why Hawke and Isabela warned her not to enter the gallows. 

Fenris began glowing in that terrifying and impressive sort of way, lip curling in disgust.

"Not my witch."

She must have heard wrong, her head spinning so. She was not _his_ anything _._ The templar scrambled back, knowing now who was coming for him. None of his efforts could quell the raw lyrium imprinted in Fenris' skin. Fenris burst forward and ended the templar's life in barely a blink of an eye, Merrill woozily getting to her feet. 

“D’you suppose that’s what Hawke had in mind by asking to walk me home? She always says to keep a low profile.” 

Her body felt eerily empty still, and her head swam with the possibilities of what could have happened had Fenris not been there. Any of the effects of the ale had disappeared with the cleanse though. Merrill felt all too aware of her body and what was missing. Fenris withdrew his hand from the templar, and the body fell with a thud. 

“Everything’s spoiled now,” he said, inspecting his gauntlet for gore. "No one will question a dead templar in all this destruction.” 

"You may be right."   
  
Merrill gazed at the collapsed building, wondering where the child had scampered off to. She only hoped he’d find better shelter soon. It was not a night to be alone. 

***

The sun dipped beneath the treetops and finding the traces of Fenris’ steps was proving difficult. Merrill thought perhaps she taught him too well. But oh, there by a boulder was a snapped branch and just beyond a trampled weed. Merrill snuck alongside the rock and crept across the mossy ground, careful not to crush anything herself. 

Water trickled merrily in the near-distance, and a pair of chickadees chirped together in the branches of an oak tree. A light breeze ruffled her hair and the light scent of honeysuckle filled her nose. A peace settled on her like a warm fur pelt, and Merrill closed her eyes to the sensation. There was always something to bother before: Marethari's chiding; the uncomfortable silence of someone who didn't understand Merrill's words; the hot, sticky heat of the city; or the obsessive images that overwhelmed her when she stared at the broken pieces of the eluvian. But standing still underneath the protective branches of the trees she felt free. Hawke had helped her move on and now she was doing it, helping her people in the alienage and taking time to do something fun for herself, dallying in the woods. 

Fenris had long given up his need to hurry her along on their excursions and wouldn't care if she stopped to pick a flower or drink from the stream. 

The recognition filled her brightly. So much had changed since the others left them behind. 

***  
  


Fenris offered Merrill a steady arm and walked her all the way to her door. The alienage was eerily quiet, untouched so far by the destruction across the city. It was finally fortunate to be so removed from Hightown. The Vhenadahl still stretched proudly toward the night sky and Merrill breathed a sigh of relief. It had been too easy to picture a chunk of the chantry splitting it to its roots. 

She hesitated at her door, not ready to be alone after such a long and disheartening day. Merrill hoped Hawke wasn’t sitting by herself either, and appreciated that her friend had the wisdom to send along Fenris. 

"Why did you help me?" she asked, eager to keep him there even though he studied the dirt on her stoop and the din and disarray of her people's forced home. She wished it could have been better in the alienage too, but was still proud of what they did have. 

"Hawke asked me to."

"It doesn't seem like that's all."

He grumbled while Merrill pushed open the door. She took a stabilizing breath and entered, ready to say goodnight, but Fenris trailed close behind.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Are you staying? I thought you disliked me.”

Fenris looked around her little home. There was not much to see, a table and chairs, a shelf with few books and a corner bed, but at least everything was exactly as she left it, which offered a bit of relief. Here was something safe and untouched. Merrill needed a bit of normalcy. Having Fenris inside was hardly normal though. 

“You’re wrong,” he grumbled at last, removing his greatsword and placing it across her kitchen table. 

Well! He was insufferable at times. But instead of rising to his bait and further argue the point, Merrill stepped over to assist his efforts. She did not want to be alone. She picked at a pauldron while he plucked at a gauntlet. Her fingers smoothed over chips in the metal, surprised at how something so strong could become vulnerable. At the same time, her heart brimmed with returning magic, the effects of the templar’s cleanse fading away at last. She felt more balanced, more stable with the hollowness filled. 

After his armor was removed, Fenris kicked back in a stiff-backed, wooden chair, placing one long leg over the other and closing his eyes with a deep sigh. Merrill crossed her arms and wrinkled her nose. 

He was quite ridiculous at times too. 

She huffed. "You'll not be sleeping on a chair! You deserve a good rest after today as any other." 

Fenris didn’t even bother to open an eye. "I'll not share your bed, witch."

"Of course not. We'll put the pallet on the floor. It'll be just like in the clan. We always shared. It made the cold nights more bearable."

He did not argue. Instead, Fenris watched her haul the pallet off the small bed frame and place it before the hearth. Merrill snagged a few flimsy blankets, and fluffed her little pillow. She lit the scraggly logs she'd bought in the market for more than they were worth with a slow-burning rune, sighing in relief at the magic flowing through her again. Merrill stripped down to her tunic and he shook his head, starting to speak but deciding against it. 

"What did I do wrong now?"

Merill wondered if he wasn't going to burst right here with the thoughts so clearly bothering him. She didn’t care, he could keep his thoughts private if he wanted. All Merrill desired was sleep. Unconcerned, Merrill plopped happily beneath her covers and held a corner aloft, welcoming him in. Her body ached with spent effort, and she imagined he was just as sore. There was no point in being stubborn now. 

_Creators!_ The conflict crossing his face was hard to read. But making her wait was more than a bit rude, given what she'd just been through with the templar. She held her tongue though. Fenris was not an easy acquaintance on a good day. As her arm began to grow tired, he pulled off his tunic and dropped it onto his armor pile, then accepted the edge of blanket and slipped beneath. Merrill allowed herself a moment to admire how the flickering flames lit his eyes and glowed against the angles of his face. He was quite a handsome elf, she had to admit, and normally her nerves would have been jumping out of her skin. But despite his assurance earlier, Merrill knew he did not like her. Fenris had never liked her. That made it so much easier to lie besides him. She turned toward the fire and whispered, _“On nydha_.”

Drifting off was easy with the warm presence of another at her back. Even if that presence was just someone she knew tolerated her for the sake of Hawke.  
  


***  
  


Merrill inhaled another clean breath and opened her eyes again. Right, to find Fenris.

She examined the ground closely and saw disturbances in the pattern of the moss indicating the direction of the stream. Grinning, she toed her way to the gurgling waters and hid behind a tree, wanting to catch Fenris unaware. He wasn't there at first glance, but there were plenty of large boulders along the water's edge for an elf to hide behind. She snuck quietly, growing satisfied at the odds of her winning the game. 

She leaned against a large boulder and peered around the edge. Nothing! Just the stream trickling by without a care. She came around to examine the ground more closely. 

"Should I count this as win?"

Merrill whipped around at the sound, Fenris' deep voice breaking her focus.

"I was so close to finding you!" she protested, though he was smirking at her. "I was close!"

"You were, though I may have had an unfair advantage."

He flashed bright blue and became hard to track, pushing off the boulder and moving somewhere to her right. Merrill shook her head at the way he was showing off, still a little sore she lost the game. Next time she would use magic, now that it seemed it was on the table. Good luck to Fenris finding her then!

"It's growing dark," he said. "We should be heading back."

"I wish we didn't have to," she admitted, spying the bouquet of marigolds in his grip. “Oh, I thought you crushed them to bits!”

Fenris looked down to the orange flowers and quirked an eyebrow. Their round, happy faces were as vivid as a setting sun. She’d asked him to carry them as she searched for more and then somehow they’d decided to have a bit of fun. 

“I tried to keep them from harm,” he said, growing closer to Merrill and offering the flowers stiffly. “Perhaps I should have set them aside. I see a few did not survive.”

“That’s alright,” she smiled, taking the flowers gladly. “I assumed I’d said something that bothered you.” 

He looked affronted, eyes darkening. “And I ... ruined them in spite?” 

“No! I didn’t think you did it on purpose. Sometimes you get so grumpy when I talk about magic or the clan -- I wouldn’t have been surprised if a few were a bit flattened when I got them back.”

The look Fenris gave her was new. His eyes softened beyond recognition and the rigidness he carried in his posture disappeared. It was as if he crumpled a little himself, wilting before her. 

“Are you well? Fenris?” She shook his arm, and he seized her hand. 

“Do you really believe I am still angry _with you_? After all this time? After what we shared?” He looked away and removed her fingers, not unkindly. “Let’s return. I’ll take you home.”

***  
  


The ground shook tremendously, another falling piece of debris dislodged from the magical trap in the sky. Merrill startled awake on her side, momentarily frozen in place. Was the alienage finally getting hit by the fallout? 

Fenris moved silently behind her, clasping her hip. It was a peace offering. She reached over and took his hand, slinging their joined hands over her waist and tucking them against her belly.

“I was hoping we'd be spared," she whispered.

"It may be further away than it sounds," he replied, scooting closer. “You’re shaking.”

She was, she realized. It was very unpleasant to wake up in such a way, but Fenris was solid behind her and that did offer some reassurance. There was nothing else to do but hope that was the last piece of rubble, that Anders’ spell had finally died completely and everything that meant to fall from the sky had done so. 

Merrill grabbed his hand tighter. “I was frightened awake,” she squeaked. “I’m alright now.”

Fenris nuzzled against her neck, breath hot against her skin. 

“Mmm, you are certain?” 

“Y-es?” she stuttered. The way he felt behind her, molding around her, pushed the fear right out. It was almost as if the city ceased to exist, her heart racing wildly at what this could mean. She thought he might be able to feel her heartbeat too, as close as he was. 

Fenris shifted his other arm from between them and Merrill lifted her head from the pillow, letting him tuck an arm beneath her neck. They were melded together tight, as snug as an acorn and its little brown cap. Their feet even tangled beneath the blanket. Her rune still twinkled beneath the logs, and she blinked at their hands drawn together, the white lines of lyrium twisting and hiding beneath her fingers. A surge of desire not too dissimilar to the release of magic flooded her veins and Merrill shimmied in place, her body more alive than it had ever been. 

It wasn’t wrong, was it? To want this from him? 

_“Isalan hima sa i’na,”_ she said, nearly a curse, confident Fenris would not know what it meant. But his hips moved as if he did understand and Merrill hummed softly in approval. 

She did not pretend to be well versed in this language, but was determined to take part in the conversation. Merrill hitched her tunic above her waist and pulled at the stays of his breeches. It was awkward and fumbling, and when she brushed the smooth skin of his stomach she nearly flinched. Fenris freed his hand from where she still clutched it tightly at her belly, and situated himself behind her, tilting her hips. There was no warning when he thrust into her, though Merrill hardly expected one.

  
***

She frowned, trying to piece out what she’d said now. Fenris still looked prickly whenever she mentioned magic, and it really wasn’t possible to avoid the topic entirely. Besides, what did he expect her to do? Change entirely to suit his needs? This was why they weren’t really friends. 

He paced ahead of her, head and shoulders bent toward the ground. Yes, they’d shared one night together, and as pleasant as it was to recall from time to time when she was alone, Merrill hadn’t imagined it meant anything to Fenris. 

Had it?

Merrill looked at the little cluster of flowers in her grip. Was it just loneliness that set them together? 

“What did it mean?” She twitched her lips and set her heels in place. “To you? That night, we slept together and then you never mentioned it again. I thought it was one of those things we weren’t supposed to talk about, like magic or the eluvian or how everyone else had gone.” Fenris stopped in his tracks, but didn’t turn around. “You never say anything, you know. What am I supposed to think when you don’t give me any hints? It's like expecting me to play the game before you’ve made up the rules.” 

A few moments of silence passed. Her stomach twisted in knots. Had she known the day was going to end like this, she wouldn’t have bothered him at all. But Merrill wanted to keep talking because the nothingness hurt worse than arguing. They were very good at picking on one another. 

He turned and gave her a look of anguish so familiar she recognized it immediately. When Hawke asked him to walk her home he had been so willing to say no, until he had to say yes and then he looked like someone had kicked a kitten. That was the look he gave her now, all hurt and betrayed.

“What?” Her chest ached with something foreign, unwanted. “You always liked to yell at me!” 

“Merrill--” His hands rested dumbly at his sides, though his fingers twitched nervously. “I’m not good at _this_.”

That hardly helped explain anything. She huffed, annoyed at him wanting her to understand but offering no clarification. 

“And you think I might be better?” She laughed. “I don’t know what gave you that impression!”

“You are impossible,” he growled, and surged forward to hold her face between his palms. Merrill dropped the marigolds in shock, and stood on her tiptoes to keep balance as he kissed her. 

It was their first kiss. That night, there’d been little gentleness between them. Kissing him back now, Merrill wished for a little more tenderness, slowing his lips with her own and curling her fingers beneath his armor to twist in his shirt. There was nothing to compare it against, for Merrill never had done this before, but she could tell it was a very good kiss indeed. The way her insides jumped and heat came into her belly; if only they had done this before. 

She pulled back first, gasping for a full breath. Her chest heaved and her head swam with wonder. How long had Fenris wanted to do that? 

“Longer than I should admit,” he shrugged, pulling her tighter against him. 

“Did I say that out loud?”

He smirked and it sent a flurry of warmth to her heart. So many questions still swam on the tip of her tongue though. When did this begin? How could he care for her when he hated mages? Why would he ever pick Merrill?

“I can see you’re already starting to doubt. That is my fault.”

She didn’t agree or disagree. Too much of this remained in his head alone, which seemed unfair. But Merrill was willing to hear him out. Neither of them were very good at feelings, that much was evident. 

“Tell me,” she said, tracing the side of his face with a curious fingertip. “I thought you only tolerated me. How did it happen?”

***

He woke to a little snoring sound. Merrill was the source, wrapped up against his chest, head beneath his chin. The night before had been awful in so many ways, but also fairly amazing. The way she sighed his name as she came undone ... He closed his eyes again, a twisting guilt clenching his heart. What had he done? He had preferred she believed he disliked her, it was easier to manage the unwelcome feelings that surged in his chest whenever he looked at Merrill, whenever she laughed or exclaimed in surprise, or poked at him in a way that made him question himself. 

_Kaffas!_

It was selfish to want. It was even worse to take.

Merrill inhaled deeply. He could feel her lashes against his bare chest, blinking awake. He wished she would simply fall back asleep, to avoid the myriad of questions she was sure to have about what it all meant and why he would want such a thing. 

Why did he want her? 

He couldn’t even track back exactly when it had happened, just that it had in time, like a spreading sickness that overwhelmed him until he could barely breathe. 

That wasn’t fair, comparing her to an illness, but he felt absolutely ill whenever they were together. His stomach ached and his head swam with all the things he wished he could do or say. Hawke knew. And he’d wanted to strangle her last night when she made him walk Merrill home. 

“Festis bei umo canavarum,” he whispered to himself. 

The best he could do was try. Try to be more friendly. Try not to wince every time she made an innocent comment about magic. He disliked his own reaction, but it was still going to take some time. Maybe he’d never have a handle on it. 

Merrill stirred completely, sitting up in a hurry as if she’d just realized what had happened. He expected an onslaught of questions, but instead his witch rubbed the sleep from her eyes, stretched and got to her feet. 

“What should we do now?” 

Fenris exhaled in relief, as if he’d escaped the noose. 

“I’m not sure,” he said, throwing back the covers. He reminded himself to be friendly. This was a chance to make things better between them. “Hawke may or may not want visitors today. Let’s start with something you want to do for once.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Your bedsharing prompt started an idea in my mind that was hard to shake. I hope that this story lives up to this pairing and your likes!


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